


the perfect storm

by princesskay



Series: in your eyes [2]
Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Praise Kink, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:41:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23995432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: Holden had thought he was doing a pretty good job of concealing his sexually frustrated agony until this week when a mix-up with the hotel reservation resulted in the perfect storm - a single room. Providence? Fate? No, just plain, shit luck.
Relationships: Holden Ford/Bill Tench
Series: in your eyes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748365
Comments: 14
Kudos: 111





	the perfect storm

To call their current situation providence would have been far too kind; it’s more like a sick joke that the universe is playing on him, pitting his untamed desires against an unwitting opponent. 

It’s been three weeks since the director’s retreat at Stoneridge, and Holden has spent every day since then putting as much distance as possible between him and Bill. When they’re working together, when Bill lays a single innocuous finger on him, it’s nearly impossible for him to hide his feelings, but he represses it all until he gets home. When he’s alone, the fantasies are free to roam his mind, reducing him down to those needy, uncontrollable impulses that he had submitted to that night when Bill had drunkenly pulled him into bed. 

Before three weeks ago, he’d been lying to himself.  _ I don’t like him, and I don’t want him.  _ Well, that cover is blown, and there’s no point in trying to deceive his racing thoughts and eager flesh any longer; and it’s like he’d never really smothered those needs by never masturbating to the thought of Bill, but had only stored that rising, electric energy in his body until it forced its way free, gushing out of him unstoppably - every night now it seems, sometimes more than once. 

Holden had thought he was doing a pretty good job of concealing his sexually frustrated agony until this week when a mix-up with the hotel reservation resulted in the perfect storm - a single room. 

Providence? Fate? No, just plain, shit luck. 

Holden tried vaguely to argue with the arrangements, but Bill waved off the complaints and thanked the hotel clerk before steering them towards the room. He’d reasoned that they wouldn’t be spending all that much time in the room since they’re on a case, and he has no issue with the accommodations as long as they each have their own bed and Holden doesn’t hog the bathroom. Seeing no other choice, Holden conceded. 

That was three days ago. Three days of watching Bill lounge on the bed in his underwear, and come out of the shower with damp skin. Last night, Holden had discreetly watched him shaving in the bathroom mirror, and somehow managed to get an erection from the simple stroke of the razor along his jawline. He’d quickly rolled onto his stomach to hide it, and tried to focus on the book he was reading; but somehow, with every innocuous gaze, he feels like Bill can read his thoughts, his deepest, innermost desires, and he wonders - is Bill quietly laughing at his humiliating lack of self-control? Is he amused by Holden’s abject desperation? The idea is almost too much to bear, but it keeps the needs from spinning out of his control through the force of sheer mortification.

Tonight, they had gotten back late from the precinct, but neither of them have suggested turning off the light, too wound up from the long day to try sleeping. Holden lays curled up on his side, absently watching the television while Bill leans against the headboard of his own bed, half-reading a book while he nurses a glass of whiskey and a cigarette. Holden knows he shouldn’t, but he lets his gaze wander from the television.

The yellow lamplight softens Bill’s sharp features, and casts the hills and planes of his bare shoulders the peak of his chest in shadow. His ankles are loosely crossed while he cradles the book against his belly, and the muscles in his forearms ripple with every turn of the page. When he takes a lazy drag of the cigarette, his exhale clouds smoke past his languid lips that are then moistened by a sip of whiskey. His body looks soft yet firm, inviting - and now Holden knows just how it feels curled up against him, giving him free rein to imagine how nice it would be to crawl into his lap right now and turn his attention fully from the words on the page of his book. 

Holden looks away, pulling his pillow tighter against his chin. He shifts against the soft hotel sheets, trying to get comfortable with the first frisson of aching heat wandering down into his belly. Dread swells against the compounding need as he realizes he’s getting hard again. 

_ He shouldn’t have looked.  _ But it’s too late for should’ve or would’ve. Bill touching him isn’t the only trigger any longer; it’s his everything, his presence, his quiet confidence, his coarse masculinity, his smoking, his whiskey, his fucking reading, his fingers deftly turning the pages - and Jesus Christ, doesn’t he feel any of the panicked need that Holden’s feeling? Would he look up just once and see the way he’s setting Holden on fire? 

“I need to use the bathroom.” He blurts out, sitting upright on the edge of the bed.

Bill glances over his reading glasses, appearing confused. “Okay?”

Holden flushes hotly, and scrambles off the bed to march on trembling legs into the bathroom. Shoving the door shut behind him, he leans back against the door and tries to steady his breathing. When he glances down, his cock is visibly throbbing against the confines of his pajama pants, demanding release. There’s no talking himself down, no repressing the need; he feels like he could explode. 

Pushing away from the door, Holden crosses the bathroom to the toilet, and eases the lid shut. He sits down, and rubs both hands over his face. He’s shaking, desperate, pathetic, but he doesn’t care - he just wants to come so he can have a respite for a few hours. 

Grabbing a handful of kleenex from the box on the sink, he shoves his trousers and underwear down around his thighs. In the sharp, white light of the bathroom, his cock is angry pink and rigidly swollen against his belly. It writhes freely, shaft etched with pulsing veins pushed to the surface, nearly purple with their urgency. 

A gasp rises in the back of his throat as he takes it in his hand, and feels an immediate rush of gratification at the contact. Clamping his mouth shut, he applies a few slow strokes to ease himself into the warm, humming sensation. He closes his eyes against the sterile surroundings of the bathroom, letting the dark sheen of desire behind his eyelids take over. A contained fantasy world unravels inside his mind, unlikely scenarios in which Bill finally does look up from his reading. 

He has to bite his lip against a moan when he shifts into a faster pace that quickly urges the clenching muscles and building ache to overflow. He can feel it crawling up through his groin, into his belly, invading his chest and robbing his lungs of oxygen. Perched on the edge of the toilet seat, he pushes his toes into the cool tie and arches his back against the wave of arousal that sweeps through him. 

His hand jerks harder as his body races, nearing the finish line with a pounding throb. Clutching the kleenex over his cock, he opens his mouth in pleasured awe while the tide towers, rushing in to greet him. He’s so close he can taste it, so close-

Everything comes to a cold, paralyzed halt when a soft knock on the door interrupts his building orgasm. The tide retreats abruptly, sinking back down into a dull ache while his heart explodes against his ribs in panic. 

“Holden, are you okay in there?”

Holden draws in a shuddering breath, scrambling to come up with a response, and eventually stammers, “One minute.”

His voice is low and choked, perhaps indistinguishable through the door. Maybe Bill heard him wrong, maybe not; either way, the knob turns, and Holden is frozen in horror as the door swings open. 

The tawdry exposure happens in a matter of seconds. 

Bill’s gaze lands on him, rapidly shifting through confusion, shock, and disbelief before his mouth slips open. 

“Oh-”

All of the heat in Holden’s body seems to go to his cheeks, scorching with an intensity that could incite flame. He scrambles up from the toilet seat, but the motion only causes his pajama trousers to flee down towards his knees.

“Oh, fuck.” He stammers in horror, bending to grab the departing trousers. “I’m sorry- … shit, I … this isn’t … I wasn’t- … I just-”

Every explanation ends in choked humiliation as he manages to grab onto his pajama pants and yank them back up. He struggles to get the front of them over his still swollen cock that’s leaking pre-cum, flesh silently protesting the denied orgasm. 

Bill breaks out of his own paralyzed shock. 

“Shit. Sorry.” 

He pulls the door shut, and the lock clicks loudly in the utter silence. Holden stands still, his heart pounding, and face burning with humiliation. The horror sets in slowly, gradually numbing the sharp edge of pleasure, leaving him half-hard with unfinished orgasm yet wilted with shame. 

Sinking back down to the toilet seat, he clutches both hands over his dangling lips. He stares at the neat, square patterns of the tile floor until his thundering heartbeat and the nausea churning in his stomach ease, and the implications begin to set in. 

Bill saw him. Not just nakedness, but his need. What does he think? That Holden was just randomly horny, and it has nothing to do with him? 

The longer Holden sits still, processing what happened and letting his thoughts wander, the more he isn’t sure what he thinks either. After the initial shock and shame of being caught in the act melts away, how much of him is truly mortified at the thought of Bill seeing him? Or is that gaze, lingering just a bit too long, exactly what he had wanted all along? 

Several minutes later, Holden gets up from the toilet seat and paces the small space of the bathroom as he tries to think about how he should address the situation to Bill - if he should explain himself, or apologize, or act as if nothing happened at all. But perhaps he should just go out and gauge Bill’s reaction, and make a decision from there. 

In the end, he decides to get a shower because he wants just a little bit more time before he has to face what just happened. While he bathes, the decision doesn’t become any more clear, and when he steps out of the shower half an hour later, skin rubbed pink and pruny from the hot water, Bill knocks on the door. 

His voice drifts past the barrier, “Holden, I’m turning the lights off. Be careful when you come out.”

That’s it. The choice is removed from him, at least for the time being. 

When Holden slips out of the bathroom, the room is blanketed in shadow, and Bill is laying on his side, his back facing Holden’s bed. Climbing under the sheets, Holden settles down against the pillow, and presses his eyes shut; but he can’t get the image of Bill’s shocked expression out of his mind. It wasn’t amused or disgusted. He didn’t look away immediately. He looked and looked until Holden pulled his trousers up. 

~

The next morning, Holden wakes to see the bathroom door standing open. Bill is standing over the sink shaving, his gaze concentrated on the slide of the razor. Keeping his eyelids halfway shut, Holden watches the blade trace the planes of his jaw and cheeks, skim his upper lip, and glide down his throat. Barely conscious, his body gives an instinctive throb, reminding him that he’d gotten so close to coming last night only to be denied a much needed release. 

He shoves it down when Bill washes the remnants of shaving cream from his face, applies aftershave, and steps out of the bathroom. He pauses when he sees that Holden is awake, his eyes flashing with guarded curiosity.

“‘Morning.” He says. 

“Good morning.” Holden replies, pushing himself upright, and tossing the sheets back. “What time is it?”

Bill checks his watch. “Seven-thirty. You better get a move on.”

“Sorry. I had trouble falling asleep last night.”

Bill's gaze lingers pointedly on him for a long moment before he clears his throat. “I’ll go downstairs and grab us something to eat so we can get to the precinct.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Holden pulls the bathroom door shut behind him, and goes to the toilet to relieve himself. The slight graze of his fingers makes the twitching undercurrent of dissatisfied need rear its head, but he forces himself down into submission. 

_ They don’t have time for this.  _

Despite the pep talk, he can’t get last night’s scenario out of his head. While he gets dressed and fixes his hair, he thinks about Bill’s gaze on him, and quietly decides he doesn’t hate as much as he thought he did initially. He’s beyond denying the attraction, but Bill’s awareness of him as a sexual creature is more exhilarating than he’d expected. He thought he would wake up feeling humiliated and exposed; instead, he feels giddy as Bill’s exact expression sticks in the back of his mind - shocked, yes, but perhaps appreciative in a silent, sheltered way. 

When Holden comes out of the bathroom, Bill has returned from the continental breakfast with bagels and scrambled eggs. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed with the plate balanced on his knees while he smokes a cigarette. He motions at the desk where he set the other plate. 

“Thanks.” Holden murmurs, standing over the desk to take a bite. 

They’re quiet for several moments, but Holden can feel Bill’s gaze discreetly perusing him, gauging the silence, his body language, his behavior. Pressing his eyes shut, he feels his cheeks growing warm again, and quietly longs for the tension to dissipate. 

Bill clears his throat. “Holden, I think we should talk about what happened.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay.” Holden says, quickly, casting Bill a desperate glance. “We don’t have to.”

“I said we  _ should. _ ”

Holden glances back down at the fluffy, yellow mound of eggs, shoving down the rising sense of panic as Bill gets up from the bed and walks over to him. 

“Listen,” Bill says, gently, his gaze searching for Holden’s, “I’m not pissed off or disgusted.”

“I know-” 

“It’s natural. Completely normal and-”

“Bill, I’m thirty years old.” Holden says, casting Bill a terse gaze. “You don’t need to give me the talk.”

“Right, sorry. I’m just saying, it doesn’t need to be a big deal.”

“I know it’s not.”

“Well, you seem … tense.” Bill says, waving a hand at Holden’s rigid posture. “I’m telling you that you don’t need to be. Just … next time when you feel the urge come over you, it might be in your best interest to lock the door.”

Holden bites the inside of his cheek, feeling his cheeks grow hotter. 

“For the record, I said ‘one minute’ not ‘come in.’” He says, angling for a rueful, unperturbed tone of voice. 

Bill grunts a chuckle. “Sorry, again. You just ran in there so quickly I thought you might be sick or something.”

Holden lowers his gaze again, pressing his eyes shut against a fresh wave of humiliation.  _ Not sick. Just unbearably turned on.  _

“Okay, I just wanted to clear the air.” Bill says, holding up a conceding hand. 

“It’s perfectly clear.”

“Great. Let’s get to work.” 

~

Bill might have had no problem moving on from the incident, but it rigorously hounds Holden’s thoughts for the next three days. The case looks to be stretching into its second week with the discovery of another body and a whole new subset of family members and suspects to interview and eliminate. He knows it's selfish and horribly unprofessional, but it’s become increasingly difficult for him to focus on work with Bill sitting at the desk right across from him at the precinct. His thoughts have a tendency to lose track of the profile and replay that moment when the door opened again and again. By now, he has every second memorized - even his pathetic stammering and hapless attempt to hide what he was doing - but he’s mainly focused on Bill’s reactions and the feelings his eyes on Holden had incited. 

Four days later, they finish up a long day at the precinct, and get back to the hotel close to eight. Bill suggests he go down the street and get carry-out from the Thai place on the corner. They’d discovered the little restaurant only a few days after arriving here, and it had quickly become their go-to for a quick dinner after a long day. There’s a little shop right next to it to service their need for a six-pack or Bill’s nicotine addiction. 

“Do you want me to go with you?” Holden asks from his position sprawled on the bed. 

“No, I can go.” Bill says. “You want your usual?”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, I'll be back soon."

“Okay.” 

Bill slips out of the hotel room, leaving Holden alone with the four walls that have quickly become familiar and the chatter of the television playing at low volume. Staring up at the ceiling, Holden doesn’t think about dinner despite his empty stomach. 

Despite Bill’s impassive response to walking in on him, he hasn’t tried jerking off in the bathroom again, paralyzed between insatiable need and powerful shame. He’s alone for the first time in several days, and his body has yet to stop reminding him of how close he’d gotten to climax that evening in the bathroom. He woke up this morning hard as rock, balls aching, and he feels like he’s being punished for his desires in the most cruel and unusual way. 

The idea crosses his mind now, the little slice of privacy dangling torturously before him, and he can’t push it from his mind. He opens his eyes to the ceiling of the hotel room as his stomach curls with a persistent clench of need. Glancing down at his groin, he bites his lip against a groan when he sees the front of his trousers beginning to tent. 

He doesn’t remember making a conscious choice; but in just a few moments, his belt buckle is undone, and his palm is rubbing the cotton of his briefs into his pulsing cock. He groans aloud at the coarse contact quickly pushing him towards full erection. Grasping himself through the fabric, he applies a harder touch, and quietly enjoys the vicious burn of hampered pleasuring. He digs his heels into the mattress, rocking his hips up into the caress and rutting into the inadequate stroke of his hand touching himself through his underwear. 

Need surges through him, the impatient longing in his belly urging him to get off as quickly as he can while the other more tempered side begs him to stretch this moment of privacy out as long as he can - perhaps into a moment of invaded privacy when Bill returns from getting dinner. 

Holden pauses, biting at his lower lip and squeezing his cock through his underwear. His stomach is churning, the haze of need making it difficult to think. Is that what he really wants? To facilitate another moment of accidental exposure? 

Pushing aside the pestering thought, Holden pulls his tie off over his head, and unbuttons his shirt. His heated skin breathes gratefully as he strips the garments away, and he glances down to see his nipples hard against his t-shirt - every bit of him straining for pleasure. He hesitates only a moment longer before kicking his trousers from his legs, and falling back against the pillow. 

He clasps his hand over his pulsing crotch, gathering his fingers under his aching balls and rubbing the heel of his hand into his cock. The friction of cotton against his engorged flesh encourages the desperation burning through his belly and chest, and pushes a helpless whimper to the back of his throat. Drawing his legs up, he plants his feet into the mattress, and lifts his hips up into the descending grind of his hand. 

“Ohh….” The broken cry tumbles from his lips as his cock gives a plaintive throb. 

His self-control in tatters, unable to take the ache and burn of the dry rubbing any longer, he pushes his hand under the waistband of his underwear. The first graze of skin-on-skin makes him freeze, his whole body rippling with a pleasured shock. His hips drop back down to the sheets as his back arches, and his toes curl, pushing back against the sheets until the duvet is bunched at his feet. 

Curling his hand around his cock, he momentarily tries to tame the blaze of panicked need. He applies a slow, firm stroke, not too hard or fast but just enough to encourage the hedging orgasm to the borders of his mind. His groin tightens with a recurring quiver of arousal that has him squirming eagerly against the caress of his hand. 

Groaning in the back of his throat, he pushes his other hand under the hem of his t-shirt and works his trembling fingers up against his hardened nipple. Fresh, competing pleasure surges through him like electricity as he rubs his thumb coarsely across the hardened flesh. His cock jolts in his hand, desperately leaking pre-cum. He pinches at his nipple, and feels a resulting shock, his body wavering on the verge of climax. 

The dull roar of pleasure is so loud in his mind that he hardly hears the key turning in the lock. He’s barely aware of it, hearing the sound on the fringes of his mind like the feathery graze of intuition on the back of his neck - or rather, the buzz of a self-fulfilling prophecy. This moment was rehearsed, conjured, premeditated, and yet, as his straining comes to fruition, he’s struck with crushing doubt. 

Yanking his hands out from under his clothing, he scrambles upright on the bed. 

Bill is standing just inside the door with the takeout bag dangling from his fist. His jaw is fixed into a taut line, his mouth holds a faint tremor, and his nostrils flare with a slow, deep breath. 

Holden flushes hotly. His body is charging with surging endorphins, adrenaline, panic, need, a bad chemistry experiment exploding in his chest. And Bill, the source of it all, is standing there watching the disaster he’d created appearing … pleased?

“I … I-” Holden begins, choking on his own humiliation. “I wasn’t-”

Bill sets the bag down on the TV stand, his gaze breaking away from Holden’s with a stifled sigh. 

Holden’s chest pounds. He feels like he can’t breathe, but a smaller part of him is enjoying the devolution of his fantasy escaping the borders of his own mind, even if it ends spectacularly badly. 

“Wasn’t what?” Bill asks, his voice a low, scraped whisper that belies skepticism. 

Holden sinks back towards the headboard as Bill walks slowly across the room towards him. 

“It, uh … It wasn’t what-” Holden whispers, his voice shaking. 

_ It’s not what you think.  _ But the words won’t emerge from his throat because he’s terrified, humiliated, and turned on - and maybe because they just aren’t true. Suddenly, he feels like crying, and he’s not sure whether it’s out of shame or desperation.

He lowers his head as Bill approaches the edge of the bed, gazing down at Holden like he’s no more than a misbehaving child caught playing in the mud - slightly amused yet frustrated. 

“Really?” Bill asks, drawing in a deep breath, “Because it looked like you were pretty close to me.”

Holden’s gaze swings back up to meet Bill’s, his lips sliding open in disbelief. Shaking his head, he tries to come up with a response inside the hollow echo of desire and panic inside his brain. 

“No, you weren’t close?”

Holden’s breathing quickens. Bill shifts closer, his pale blue eyes perusing Holden’s shivering body, pausing at his groin. 

“No, I …” Holden chokes out, heat enveloping his entire skull. He closes his eyes, admitting, “I was.”

“So, then why are you stopping?”

Holden’s eyelids flutter open again, taking in Bill’s tempered expression. He’s still reeling, trying to convince himself this moment is real and not some kind of vivid wet dream. Bill’s calm, his compliance, the blatant desire swimming in his own eyes - this can’t be real. 

“I- I …” He stammers, leaning back against the headboard as Bill sits down on the edge of the mattress. 

“What?” Bill asks, his mouth tilting with a faint smirk. “Are you expecting me to help you?”

Holden’s mouth drifts open wider, a choked breath emerging from the back of his throat. His face is so hot it could burst into flame, but his cock is throbbing again, harder than before. Tearing his hand away from it’s clutched position around the bed sheets, he tentatively nudges it between his legs. 

Bill’s teeth graze softly across his lower lip as he glances down to follow the trembling path of Holden’s fingers over the straining cotton of his underwear. 

Holden draws in a shuddering breath, and shifts his knees open wider. Every inch of him is shivering with hot waves of crashing need, his cock blooming with unbearable arousal beneath Bill’s casual, pleased gaze. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Bill asks, softly. 

Holden looks away as Bill’s gaze lifts, and his fingertips brush up against Holden’s ankle. Pressing his eyes shut, he tries not to whimper as he nods his head. His eyes jolt open again when Bill’s hand curls around his ankle, and drags him toward the edge of the mattress. 

He goes compliantly, unable to resist the guidance with his body crumbling beneath tides of crushing arousal. 

Bill sits him on the edge of the mattress, and crouches down in front of him. Gently grasping Holden’s knees, he pushes them apart until the tented front of his underwear is blatantly displayed. His thumb brushes back and forth across Holden’s bare knee as his gaze tracks upward, following Holden’s pale thigh, his straining erection, his shuddering chest up to his face. 

“Christ,” Bill murmurs, his mouth pursing against a smile. “You should see your face right now.”

Holden draws in a hitched breath, and tries to laugh or respond in some way. It comes out in a choked hiccup. 

“You thought you were doing a pretty good job hiding this from me, didn’t you?” Bill asks, his palm sliding up Holden’s bare thigh. 

“I … I guess.” Holden whispers, his voice shaking.

“M-mm.” Bill mutters, his eyes narrowing as his hand reaches Holden’s underwear. “I know what you want.”

Holden swallows hard. “You do?”

“Mm.” 

But Bill doesn’t elaborate as he tugs on the waistband of Holden’s underwear. Instead, he murmurs, softly yet firmly, “Take these off.”

Holden obeys like he has no other choice, like Bill’s command had crawled into his skin and taken control of his limbs. Hooking his thumb under the elastic, he pushes the underwear down his hips until his hard cock springs free. As the underwear reaches his knees, Bill removes them the rest of the way, and tosses them aside. 

His heavy-lidded, clinging gaze wanders over Holden’s exposed erection, setting flame to the already aching flesh. Holden bites back a whimper, and clutches the bed sheets to sit still beneath the intense rift of arousal triggered low in his belly by Bill’s eyes on him. The heat in his cheeks gradually subsides as he realizes that Bill isn’t amused by his desperation or disgusted by it, but abjectly pleased. 

“Jesus, Holden.” Bill whispers, leaning forward to plant a slow kiss on his knee. “Look at you …”

Holden shudders. “You- … You like it?”

Bill’s affirmative hum vibrates against his skin. He reaches over to grasp Holden’s opposite knee, nudging his legs open wider. Lifting his head, he casts Holden a faint smile, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with need. 

“So fucking hard …” He murmurs, “You wanted me to see you, didn’t you?”

Holden nods. Arousal snares in his belly, a hard clamp of muscle, and he bites back a moan. 

“Please …” He whispers, pressing his palm against his inner thigh. “Please, I …”

“Yeah.” Bill says, giving him an encouraging nod. “Go on. You were so close.”

“Yes.” Holden whimpers, reaching down to grab at his aching cock. 

“Good.” Bill breathes out, shifting closer as Holden’s hand strokes hungrily at his cock. 

The reintroduction of his hand against his cock immediately causes Holden’s groin to clutch hotly with rising pleasure. He tilts his head back, groaning aloud as it surges through him, cresting in low, yet swelling waves that herald approaching climax. 

“Oh, God …” Holden whines, breathing hard through his nose in staggered bursts. 

Bill’s hand clutches his knee tighter as he whispers a low encouragement. “Fuck. That’s good. Just like that.”

Holden braces his free hand in the sheets to stop himself from collapsing backwards. He feels light-headed, dazed with pleasure, his body exploding with the raw satisfaction of Bill’s voice urging him towards orgasm. It’s all he had ever wanted, and now that it’s happening, he can’t quite grasp that this moment is real - only that he’s tumbling through it, starry-eyed, lost in a disconnected meteor shower of bliss. And the tide keeps coming in, harder and faster, drawing him under. 

“Oh, fuck-” He whimpers, his face twisting as his jerks harder at his cock. “Bill, I’m not going … I’m not going to- … to last, I-”

“Shh, keep going.” Bill says, his hands rubbing encouragingly along Holden’s thighs. “You look so good this way. I want to see you come.”

Holden’s mouth drops open, a whine of shock and pleasure scraping from his throat. There’s bombs going off inside his brain, the fabric of the world tearing to pieces. This can’t be real, and yet Bill’s are hands on his thighs and his voice is in his ears; and he’s never felt this fucking turned on his life. 

“Fuck, yes.” Bill murmurs from beyond the haze in Holden’s brain, “Show me how hard you can come.”

And there, the switch flips. Holden feels it inside him, the twist of his belly, the sudden break like the burst tension of a water balloon. It hits hard and explodes free, the initial, powerful clamp of muscles in his groin and chest seizing so violently that he can hardly breathe. The spasms sweep through him, pummeling him repeatedly and soaring through his chest with breathless, boundless bliss. His eyelids slip open to watch in shocked awe as cum fountains from his cock, spattering his belly and thighs, and managing to land a few milky drops of Bill’s cheek and throat. 

Bill turns his head to one side, his eyes sliding half-shut as Holden’s cum lands along his clenched jawline and his flushed throat; but he doesn’t pull away or cringe in disgust. He clutches onto Holden’s thighs, feeling every tremor that ripples through him and smiling softly in satisfaction. 

Holden sinks back against the sheets as the orgasm ends, and his body is left feeling drained and powerless. His legs dangle over the edge of the bed while the rest of him sprawls against the sheets, reeling and gasping for breath. He milks his cock of every last drop of cum and shudder of pleasure until the sensitized flesh scorches beneath his touch, and he lets go. His hand lays limply at his groin, dripping with release, feeling his cock go soft with sated pleasure. 

Bill’s mouth against his knee grounds him, drawing him back to reality. His eyelids slip open, staring up at the ceiling with a borderline of black stars prickling in overwhelmed aftershocks. Slowly, he lifts his head from the sheets to peek down at where Bill’s mouth is creating a simmering, warm line of saliva up the inside of his thigh. 

Bill’s gaze lifts, catching Holden staring at him. 

Holden bites his lower lip, and searches for something coherent to say inside the chaotic ramble of his thoughts. There’s so many things he could say, but he doesn’t want to sound foolish. 

Bill crawls up onto the mattress beside him, and settles down on his hip with his elbow propped underneath him. Cradling Holden’s cheek, he gently turns his face towards him. 

“How was it?” He asks, softly, “Did it live up to your fantasy?”

Holden blushes, hotly, but he can’t look away with Bill’s hand firmly around his jaw. Instead, he lowers his eyelids, and meekly whispers, “Yes.”

Bill leans down to kiss him on the forehead, but the single gesture melds into a tumbling series as he moves along the ridge of Holden’s eyebrow and against his temple. His breath dispels warmly across Holden’s ear as he whispers, “God, you were fucking beautiful.”

Holden shivers, leaning his cheek into the caress of Bill’s mouth. 

“Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

Holden nods. “Do you mean it?”

Bill retreats, his gaze sober and attentive. “Every word.”

Holden swallows hard, and blinks, dumbfounded. 

“You’re surprised?” Bill asks, easily reading his stricken expression. 

“A little.”

“Why?”

“I wasn’t sure you … that you wanted me- …  _ that way _ .” Holden whispers, “I thought you-”

Bill chuckles, bemused for the first time. “You call yourself an expert in reading human behavior?”

Holden feels his face warming again, and he glances away, scowling. “Well, I … I just didn’t want to assume anything, or-”

“Hey,” Bill soothes, nudging Holden’s chin back in his direction. “I’m kidding.”

“I know.” Holden whispers, still sinking against the sheets. 

“Come here. Maybe this will help.” 

Holden is still reeling from everything that had just happened, and his barely gathered composure scatters to the wind once more when their mouths meet. Bill’s lips stroke gently against his own, gathering up his lower lip with delicate pressure, urging his mouth open, and pressing his tongue briefly inside. The kiss is slow and skilled, deliberately tasting Holden’s mouth, and confidently making him shudder with every slick join of their lips. 

When he pulls back, Holden is breathing in muted, raspy shivers. He gazes up at Bill’s glistening lower lip, his stormy, gray eyes holding onto Holden with breath-taking force. 

After a moment, Bill begins to smile again. “Fuck. I need to remember this moment.”

“What?” 

“The first time I’ve ever seen you speechless.”

Holden feels himself blushing again, and he wishes it wasn’t so easy for Bill to make him this tremulous and fumbling. Eager to hide his lingering doubt, he tilts his chin up to search for another kiss to which Bill readily complies.

Cradling his cheek, Bill kisses him again, slowly and thoroughly. As his tongue weaves along Holden’s lower lip and against his palate, Holden pushes past his hesitation to search for Bill’s crotch with his hand still damp with his own release. He finds it quickly; the hard, pulsing bulge trapped beneath his trousers is pronounced. 

Bill grunts against his mouth, and clutches Holden’s cheek tighter. He draws back, hissing a sharp breath past clenched teeth as Holden deliberately fondles him through the layers of clothing. Over the grazing bridges of their noses, their eyelids creep open to regard one another in quiet questioning and longing. 

Biting his lower lip, Bill carefully urges his hips into the rubbing pressure of Holden’s hand. 

Holden rubs harder, his confidence swelling as Bill utters a low groan. 

“Fuck.” Bill mutters. 

His hand leaves Holden’s cheek to grab at his bare hip, pulling him over onto his side so that their bodies can meet. Holden leans into Bill’s chest, moaning aloud as Bill grabs at his ass, pulling him close and thrusting his clothed erection into his thigh. He buries his face in Holden’s neck, plastering the skin with hot, rushing breaths and the burn of stubble and teeth. 

Holden tilts his head back to open his throat to the hungry kisses. Moans of satisfaction jolt from the back of his throat with every desperate rut of Bill’s hard cock against his thigh. His mind is still racing, overwhelmed with Bill’s body thrusting eagerly against him, hand pawing at his backside, making every point of contact possible when just a few days ago he hadn’t considered such a thing possible. Dazed, he lets the inadequate humping go on for several moments before finding his true desire below the surface of hesitation. 

He pushes back against Bill’s chest, and they both roll over still clinging to one another. Holden comes out on top of Bill, his own bare, soft cock rubbing achingly against the coarse fabric of Bill’s trousers stretched over his erection. Bracing his hands on Bill’s chest, he straddles his lap, and grabs at the fastening of the trousers. 

Bill gazes up at him, his brow pinched with intense need. His mouth slips partially open as Holden unzips the fly, and tugs the trousers down out of the way. 

Holden pauses with his hand clasping Bill’s cock through his boxers. The flesh throbs in his grasp, alive with building need - need Holden had curated, propagated, defined. The thought gives him an inextricable sense of euphoria. 

“I want to see you, too.” He whispers, a confession he’s been burying in his chest for what feels like forever. 

Bill’s chest hitches with a jagged breath. His tongue darts against his lower lip as he gives a small, eager nod. 

Holden draws in a deep breath. Every fiber of him still shudders with exhilaration and hesitation, wanting this more than anything, but not wanting to do or say the wrong thing to ruin the moment. He’d liked it when Bill was guiding him, telling him what to do, ensuring he couldn’t fuck it up, but he likes this, too - seated on top of Bill like he’s in control, like he knows what he wants, like he’s about to make Bill come just as hard as he did. 

Ignoring the anxious thread of thought, Holden focuses on the blue waistband of Bill’s boxers. They have little stripes, white stitching; he’s seen them many times in casual situations, but he’s never seen them containing an erection, one thick and prominent even concealed by fabric. He tucks his fingers under the elastic, and gently pulls them away. 

Bill breathes shakily through his nostrils as he lifts his hips to let them come down around his upper thighs. His cock slides free, rising up against his belly with a swelling throb now that it isn’t pinned down by fabric. Engorged veins snake along the shaft, tapering at the swollen rim of the head which gleams pink, faintly drizzling moisture along the slit. 

Holden slowly tears his eyes away from the sight of it to look at Bill’s face again. 

Bill’s jaw is clamped shut, but his eyes are squinted with fierce need and a silent glimmer of desperation. Clutching at Holden’s bare thigh, he presses a shiver into the skin while he draws Holden closer. 

Holden touches him gingerly, the scarce graze of his fingertips introducing his touch along the shaft. 

Bill’s belly clenches, and his head tilts back as a groan works free of his chest. 

Holden licks his lips, his gaze bouncing between Bill’s face and his throbbing cock. Emboldened by the response, he uses a stronger touch to feel his way along the length, all the way to the head. He curls his palm over it, enveloping the tip in a firm grasp before dragging his hand down slowly and letting it pierce the space between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Oh, fuck …” Bill groans, gripping tighter at Holden’s thighs. “Holden-”

The gradual, squeezing drag of Holden’s hand travels back down the shaft to curl around the root. He drags it upright, away from Bill’s trembling belly so that he can admire the way it twitches helplessly in his fist. 

“Jesus, Holden …” Bill’s voice is a quiet wreck, trembling and raspy. His hips lurch under the slow duress of Holden’s touch, and his throat and cheeks flush pink with arousal. 

Keeping his fingers closed around the root, Holden leans forward to deposit saliva from his mouth to the straining tip. Bill twitches beneath him, and gives a ragged gasp; but he goes utterly still when Holden places his other hand over the head, and begins to massage the saliva up and down the shaft. 

“Oh my god …” he whispers, his voice low and shaking. 

Pressing his knuckles to his brow, he pants softly and groans with every jerk of Holden’s fist. 

“How’s that?” Holden murmurs, eager to know. He can see the evidence right in front of him, but he wants to hear it, every possible affirmative and praise. 

“Fuck … so good.” Bill whispers, his mouth spilling open with a muted gasp. 

Holden massages both hands tandem so that the entirety of Bill’s cock is wrapped up in his touch, not a single inch spared the building friction. He bites back a smile as he watches Bill beginning to crumble, already submitting to his caress with bitten lips, raspy moans, and glistening pre-cum. 

“Oh, fuck, Holden.” He whispers, arching his hips up against the pressure. “That’s good. Little faster.”

Holden eagerly complies, shifting into a faster pace that makes Bill’s face twist with pleasured agony. 

“God, yes …” He groans, pushing his hand over his eyes as the arousal intensifies. “Just like that. Good …”

Holden’s chest surges with satisfaction at the fractured praises staggering from Bill’s mouth. He shifts his gaze back and forth between that look of devastation etched on his face to his cock on the verge of coming, entranced by this perfect picture of requited lust and wanting to remember every second of it. 

Bill’s raspy praises fade into breathless gasps. His hips stiffen beneath Holden’s caress, and his eyes squeeze shut against incoming pleasure. The dangling set of his lips stretch into a sharp cry just before it hits, warning Holden of the exact moment when climax arises. 

Holden gasps in pleasure as Bill’s cock jolts his fists, beginning with a preemptive, milky dribble that quickly turns to full, jetting gushes of release. Bill’s hips spasm underneath him, threatening to unseat him with their intensity, and he leans forward to dig his knees into the mattress while clinging to his dripping cock. Shooting a glance upward, he catches a glimpse of Bill’s frozen expression of bliss before turning his attention back to the rivulets of cum spilling from the cockhead, over his fingers, and across his knuckles. He slows the pace of his rubbing to a firm massage, drawing the orgasm out into muted shivers of sensitized pleasure until the flesh goes soft and tender in his grasp. 

He slides his hands away as Bill shudders, his throat producing something close to a whimper. His hands are covered in cum - his own and Bill’s. Filthy in the best way possible. Straddling Bill’s lap, looking over the devastation he had caused, he doesn’t feel ashamed anymore. 

Bill’s eyelids slip open to peer hazily up at Holden. He gives a quiet chuckle, his cheeks going warm. 

“Jesus Christ.” He whispers.

Holden purses his lips against a smile. “Was it good?”

“Fuck. Yes.”

Bill lies prone against the sheets as Holden climbs off his lap, and grabs a handful of tissues from the box on the nightstand. He cleans off the worst from his hands before tossing a pile on Bill’s stomach. 

Pushing his elbows underneath himself, Bill peeks up at him while he dabs at his belly. 

“You like it when I say things like that to you.” He observes. It isn’t a question.

Holden crosses his arms and glances away even though he knows both of those are nonverbal cues that Bill can easily read. 

“How good it was.” Bill continues, ignoring Holden’s defensive silence. “How good  _ you  _ are.”

Holden’s cheeks heat up again, and he wishes his body would stop reacting so heedlessly to every little thing Bill says and does. 

“That’s okay.” Bill says, tossing aside the kleenex, and rising from the bed. He catches Holden by the hips, and pulls him close. “I don’t mind telling you.”

Holden slowly unravels his arms from around his waist to delicately press his palms to Bill’s chest. Glancing up through his eyelashes, he hesitantly meets Bill’s gaze. 

“You don’t?”

“No.” Bill murmurs, dropping a kiss on his cheek. “Especially not when you do what you just did.”

Holden’s spine buzzes with tingles as Bill’s nuzzling kisses wander under his jaw and beneath his earlobe. Peeking over Bill’s shoulder, he sees the carryout bag sitting on the TV stand. 

“Dinner.” He whispers. 

“Shit.” Bill mutters, lifting his head to glance over at the bag. “I hope it isn’t cold.”

“It’ll be okay. I’m just starving.” 

“Me, too.” Bill says, his mouth tilting in a smile. “Famished.”

~

An hour later, they’re cleaned up and laying on Holden’s bed surrounded by empty takeout containers and wadded napkins. The television is playing the football game that neither of them are paying much attention to. 

They’re both in their underwear, and Holden can’t stop staring at the naked lines of Bill’s body, memorizing every curve and swell. The moment still feels too good to be true. He’s ridiculously giddy.

Sliding down against the pillows, Holden drags his knees to his chest, and wraps his arms around his shins. 

“I have a confession.” He says. 

“What’s that?” Bill asks, his distracted gaze wandering from the television to peruse Holden’s curled position. He takes a drag of his cigarette, clouding his clinging eyes with smoke. 

“That night at the director’s retreat when you were really drunk …”

“Yeah?”

“I, um … I kind of-”

“Kind of what?” Bill presses, his brow furrowing curiously. 

“When you pulled me down in bed with you, I … I did it. I masturbated.”

“What?” Bill whispers, his mouth curling into a delighted smile. “You’re not serious.”

“I am. You were dead asleep the whole time.”

“You little shit.” Bill says, shaking his head.

He reaches over to slap Holden on the backside, and Holden quickly drops his legs from his chest to avoid another shot at his exposed flank. He rolls onto his side, stifling a laugh. 

“I can hardly believe it myself.”

“Fuck.” Bill says, his grin simmering down into a smirk. “I wanted to kiss you that night.”

Holden blinks, surprised by the honesty. “You did?”

Bill takes another slow drag of his cigarette, and nods as he blows a stream of smoke past his pursed lips. 

“So fucking bad.”

Holden bites at his lower lip. “Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. I got drunk instead.”

“I guess we’ve both wanted this for awhile then.”

“You could say that.” Bill says, pushing up off his elbow to sit up against the pillows. “I feel relieved, you know.”

“Yeah me, too.”

“A little disappointed.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Bill says, a roguish smile tugging at his mouth, “I’m never going to be able to walk in on you again. It’s a sight to see, believe me.”

“I don’t know.” Holden says, shrugging sheepishly. “You still could … if we planned it right.”

Bill’s tongue curls across the smirk on his lower lip. Leaning over, he plants a slow kiss against Holden’s mouth. Neither of them close their eyes, gazing deliberately back and forth in the humming silence. When their lips part again, Bill’s breath rustles warmly across Holden’s damp mouth. 

“There is more to you than I ever thought possible, isn’t there?”

Holden nods. He doesn’t want to mess up the moment by speaking. Bill’s eyes are so close, reading every tiny expression and flicker of desire and doubt; but he doesn’t shy away from Holden’s overflowing needs, and that’s all Holden had ever wanted. 

Bill kisses him again, and the faint shadow of his hesitation disperses beneath the radiant daylight of it. He feels the same relief Bill spoke of, not just that Bill didn’t reject him, but that he’ll never have to question his own desires again. They are seen, nurtured, anticipated; and this moment is only the beginning. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm [prinxcesskayy](https://prinxcesskayy.tumblr.com//) on Tumblr!


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